Clap Your Hands
by Random Ruth
Summary: If you have a Detective Constable with PTSD, clap your hands... Morse has a scare and Thursday calms him down. Set post-2.01 "Trove". One-shot.


**Author's Note: **So "Trove" hurt my already delicate feels... Written on a prompt from _Emerald has been Cumberbatched_: _Morse has a panic attack after hearing a loud bang again and Thursday calms him down. _I hope this pleases you! :)

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**Clap Your Hands**

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It's just luck that Thursday walks past when he does. Morse is at his desk, his coat draped over the back of his chair, chin cupped in one hand – thinking, most like, about that death by natural causes over at Walton he attended yesterday. Thursday awaits the knock on the door that will be Morse coming to tell him that there's something suspicious about it.

After those rocky first few weeks of having Morse back, and Thursday feeling like he was trying to control an unpinned grenade every time Morse heard an loud unexpected noise, things have settled somewhat. Thursday's done his utmost to make sure Morse's loud noise problem has stayed between himself, Jakes and Morse. No need to embarrass the lad.

A uniformed PC is striding to Morse's desk with purpose. "Constable Morse," he says, but gets no reaction. "_Constable Morse_," he tries again, but to no avail. He's a cocky bugger, Thursday can tell as much at just a glance. The PC huffs a sigh, suddenly claps his hands right next to Morse's ear. Morse quickly twists in fright to stare at wherever the noise came from. He would have fallen out of his chair if he hadn't gripped his coat so tight.

The PC looks down his nose at Morse now that he has the Constable's attention. "There's someone down—" he begins to relay.

At this point Thursday intercepts, moving to stand in front of Morse's desk so his not inconsiderable bulk (Win insists he's well fed) is blocking the PC's view. Thursday tries not to feel a sense of satisfaction as the PC's adam's apple bobs in his throat. He doesn't quite succeed.

"Deal with him, will you, Jakes?" Thursday says, but Jakes is already on his feet and forcibly steering the PC away with a hand between the shoulder blades before Thursday's finished the request.

Thursday turns on the spot. Morse, who hasn't moved much since, is watching Jakes herd the ignorant PC away.

"You all right, Morse?" Thursday asks him gently.

Morse clears his throat, still with that haunted look in his eyes as he blinks up at Thursday. "Hmm?" He swallows. "I'm fine," he says, and it's so obviously a lie Thursday wonders why he even bothers.

"Well, if you say so..." Thursday decides it's just best to go along with it; he can always drag Morse to the pub later, plans or no plans.

"I am. I'm fine," Morse insists, his grip on his coat still white-knuckled. He makes to stand but he pales and his knees wobble. As he more or less collapses back onto his chair the coat slips and Morse falls to land on his back, the chair on its side under his knees. He lands with an audible "Oof!"

Thursday rushes around the desk to get the chair out of the way so Morse can stand – or at least, Thursday reconsiders when he sees how pale Morse has become, be more comfortable on the floor. Morse is rubbing at his hip and wincing slightly.

Morse doesn't resist as Thursday gets behind him and helps him up with his arms hooked under Morse's armpits. He helps him over to the chair, but suddenly conscious that someone could see Morse in this state, changes course and heads for his office. Morse limps slightly, his hand straying to his hip now and again as Thursday hovers around him just in case.

Morse sinks into one of the chairs in Thursday's office – softer than the one at Morse's desk and softer than the floor, that's for certain – and hisses in a breath. Thursday tries to think like Win. "A good, sweet cup of tea, that's what you need, Morse," Thursday announces. "You just wait here."

"There's no need, sir," protests Morse, looking very small in Thursday's big chair.

Thursday's already halfway out the door. "Humour me, would you?"

He's grateful to see that Jakes has sent everyone off on a tea break so none of them can see just what a state Morse is in. "Elevenses twenty minutes early," says Jakes as they wait for the kettle to warm up, "they were cheerin'."

"What did the PC want?"

"Something about that death Morse attended yesterday – there's a bit of evidence one of the boys in Uniform wants him to look at."

Thursday puts a spoonful of sugar into one of the teas, and then two more to be on the safe side. "Suspicious, is it?"

"Probably," Jakes shrugs.

"Morse will be pleased," says Thursday with a very quiet chuckle.

Jakes pointedly doesn't ask after Morse; he knows that Thursday has it under control. Thursday's not about to tell him otherwise.

Thursday is careful opening his office door not just because he's balancing two cups of tea; the door can bang sometimes, and he doesn't want to go down that road twice in one morning.

"By the way," Thursday says as he hands Morse the cup with three sugars, "Win invites you over for tea tonight."

Morse takes a sip of the tea, smacks his lips at the sweetness. "She does, does she?" He raises an eyebrow, unconvinced.

"Yeah, well... you know what she's like. She makes enough for six," Thursday says with a hint of pride.

As Morse drinks his tea Thursday can already see a bit of the colour returning to his face – not that there was an awful lot there to begin with.

After a few minutes of companionable tea-sipping, Thursday says, "There might be something suspicious about that death you attended in Walton yesterday."

Much to Thursday's surprise this seems to come as news to Morse. "Really? What?"

"I don't know, but Uniform would like you to take a look." He sips his tea in silence for a few moments. "So what were you thinking about before, then?"

"Before?" Morse blinks.

"You know... before..." Thursday waves a hand vaguely, but it's enough for Morse to get the message.

"Opera," is all Morse discloses, suddenly appearing sheepish.

"I see," Thursday nods, making a mental note of the similarities between Morse's I'm-thinking-about-a-murderer face and his I'm-thinking-about-opera face.

Thursday pulls out one of the drawers in his desk and hands Morse one of the gingerbread biscuits from his secret stash before sending him on his way.

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**THE END**


End file.
